


Cataclysm | Sacrifice

by kokuou_ji



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Lightwarden WOL, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22317013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokuou_ji/pseuds/kokuou_ji
Summary: Under certain circumstance did the Warrior of Darkness fall prey to the light, and in so doing became "Philautia," the King of the Lightwardens. Named "self-love" for his pride, Philautia remains imprisoned at the bottom of the sea, where his power is shackled. He is said only to be seen by a certain couple individuals, who keep him in check. Or are their motives so pure?
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

It had failed.

It had all failed when the light remained within the Warrior of Darkness, when the Exarch wasn’t able to fulfill his part in the grand plan he had conjured to save their worlds-- to save his beloved, to whom he would never confess. Not now. Not after his body came down into the abyss of the tempest, retching and heaving and shattering slowly, already pale skin cracking from the strain of the tainted light of five lightwardens and the weight of the worlds hanging over his shoulders. Not after his flesh finally burst, alone at the bottom of the sea, in a blinding light that shot through the waters and into the skies. A harbinger of fear, a beacon for those trying to find their champion, who had fallen.

It had failed.

The ruins of Amaurot glowed still beneath the water, shimmering against the edges of Bismark’s waning bubble, acting as a sanctuary for the new King of Lightwardens. All was quiet except for the occasional, broken humming reverberating through the buildings, their magicks still strong even after the defeat of Hades at the hands of Lyrit’s companions. The Exarch’s ears strained to focus on the sound’s epicenter, attempting to locate the lightwarden amidst seemingly endless spires. The notes he could hear, that Lyrit could make, were...of songs of loss, a few of which the Exarch recognized. It made his heart tense, chest tight, and though his wounds were only recently healed after being carried back to the Crystarium by concerned friends...he pressed on, alone. He had resolved to come beneath the waves once more to see for himself the fall of his beloved, and, were it to come to it, kill him....or die trying. There was no one else alive who could contest his strength now, not alone, and though it was a gamble, the Exarch believed he might be able to manage. Were he to draw enough power from the Tower…

It seemed sudden when the voice became too close for comfort, and the Exarch snapped to attention, his heart rate quickening, breathing turning shallow as adrenaline kicked in. The thoughts of death rushed through his mind, that he would die here, that he would fail again, that he would die-- and then the light shone from around a corner, very, very close, and a hand, fingers curling over the stone. Then, he was there. Lyrit, the Warrior of Darkness, light pouring from a blinding hole in his chest, hair golden when it had once before been black, scales shimmering with gilded radiance. His torso was held by two sets of extra arms, wrapped around him from behind wings that framed the draconic body that carried him, now, in place of legs. The sight was...divine. It took the Exarch’s breath away, and yet it sank his heart immediately.

This creature was not Lyrit.

The face bore such resemblance, the presence exerted the same pressure and allure, but it was not him. It couldn’t be. If the Exarch were to succeed in killing him, he had to stay convinced...it couldn’t be him…

His weight shifted, sandal scuffing the stone of the walkway he had stopped on, and suddenly bright, empty eyes were upon him. Hunger, insatiable hunger, churned within the familiar teal and pink irises, overwhelming. The Exarch couldn’t move, couldn’t make his legs work no matter how hard he thought, how much he willed it, and then the King of Lightwardens turned, began slowly moving closer, and then faster, and that was when the Exarch found the will to move. He brought his staff up from his side, creating before him a barrier just strong enough to halt the lightwarden’s advance before it shattered from the impact, which forced him to lift his crystal arm to cover his face from the magical debris before it dissipated.

There was almost no time for the Exarch to react as he quickly lifted his head before the King of Lightwardens was upon him again, clawed feet on either side, the two sets of arms on his torso unfurling, encompassing, wings stretched wide to offer no vision for escape, swords of light swirling around his waist, ready to cut and shatter…

And then he stopped. The growling hum from his throat quieted, the spread of his wings relaxed. Suddenly, the air felt...lighter. The swords ceased their spinning, layering together before resting above the lightwarden’s back, and when the Exarch looked up enough to meet their gazes…

It was familiar once more. Recognition colored light-tainted eyes, dimmed the glow from his chest, moved his lips.

“G’raha.”

The voice that choked from the throat of the lightwarden was familiar, too. Melodious despite the rasp that had grown in intensity, likely from the burning of the light through his throat, also possibly from the control it must have taken for Lyrit to come to his senses. And yet, strained though it was, it was Lyrit, and that reciprocal realization brought tears to the Exarch’s eyes, caught his breath in his throat, wavered his resolve.

“Lyrit, I--”

As if spurred into action by the familiar tones of the Exarch’s voice, Lyrit grabbed him, pulled him against the feathers on his draconic torso with three sets of arms, held him there. His body was...cold. Very, very cold, and though the Exarch could easily feel the warmth being drained from his body, he released his staff, opening his arms to hold what he could, buried his tear-stained cheeks against the soft, golden feathers. There was no heartbeat, nothing to signify the being before him was real or alive except for the trembling of the arms around him and the hum that began to sound once more from Lyrit’s chest, a song from a world far away, a time long past. Something the Exarch had sang when they first reached the Syrcus Tower, back when he was still G’raha Tia, so very, very long ago.

They stayed like that for a short while, until the Exarch could feel the chill seeping into his spine and he was forced to let go, to step back to a more comfortable distance to look up. Lyrit’s hands lingered, ghosts of touches on the Exarch’s arms and shoulders and cheeks as he stepped away. It pained him to see such anguish on the divine being before him, whose resemblance to his beloved was now far closer than before.

“I came to...to find you. I thought, perhaps, that I could atone for my failure by granting you mercy, taking your burden and sealing myself away in the rift where I had intended…”

“G’raha...”

“A foolish plan, I know, and though your friends told me as much, I could not help but want to try. It was my intention from the start...and yet, now that I am here, I…”

Keeping his composure was difficult. He had already been teary-eyed, had already cried, and yet his words caught in his throat, tight once more from the threat. It was unfair that this fate had to befall Lyrit, it was unfair that he remembered, it was…

Lyrit’s lips parted, and from them came the beginnings of a melody that pushed the Exarch to break. A song that he had only heard once, but a song that Lyrit had come up with himself, and though its words were in a language he was not familiar with, he could understand their intent all the same. It was a song of love, a song made to honestly confess in a way that Lyrit couldn’t bring himself to do with words alone. He had never heard it sung to him before, only in passing, when the two of them had walked together...and then it hit him. It was--

It was enough to burst his resolve once more, freeing the tears held back, and once more Lyrit stepped forward just enough to bring a finger to the Exarch’s cheek, gently, carefully, wiping tears, attempting to comfort without hurting. It was a delicate act, and when the song finished and the Exarch’s tears had slowed, Lyrit used his finger to lift the Exarch’s chin, tilting his head up so their eyes met once more.

“...there’s no need for you to grant me mercy by staining your own hands. Don’t draw your weapon against me.”

Unspoken was the threat of resistance and inevitable death, but despite the blurred vision and hiccups, the Exarch picked up on it. It was an outcome he had prepared himself for, and yet, seeing it on Lyrit’s pale face, in his eyes, the Exarch faltered. However, if mercy through death was not an option...he had to come up with something else. Something, anything. Even if Lyrit was able to control himself now, there was no telling what kind of destruction a lightwarden of this caliber could do--

“I love you.”

Though not the destruction the Exarch had in mind, the words of confession spoken from the King of Lightwardens with the voice of the man the Exarch cared for more than anyone else in the world definitely was on the upper end of the scale of world-shattering events. It caught his voice in his throat, words lost on his tongue, mouth agape and body frozen. 

Fate truly was cruel.

“Please,” then came the plea that broke the Exarch’s shock. “Seal me away. Flee this place. Live.”

“After such a confession, you ask--”

“Please.”

The overwhelming desperation in Lyrit’s eyes silenced the Exarch effectively. He had to oblige this request, if the slow, gradual thickening of the air once more to that sickening pressure was anything to go off of. This would be the only chance he’d have to do anything before he was met with resistance, and if that happened...he wasn’t sure he could survive it, anymore. Taking in a deep breath to steel himself, the Exarch stepped forward, grabbing his staff from where it lay between Lyrit’s forelegs. This...would be the hardest magic he’d casted. Containing a lightwarden of this size and caliber…

In his mind, he began preparations for dimensions, for strength, and then, after a few moments, began to channel. It was draining, it was difficult, but when he finished, the barrier appeared without flaw, invisible except for the areas touched, and...strong. Very strong. Perhaps he would have been proud of such potent magic were the circumstances different, and were he not exhausted standing mere yalms away from the King of Lightwardens, but it was finished and it would hold.

“Thank you.”

The words came forced, and before the Exarch could respond, the halo of swords manifested once more, spinning slowly around the lightwarden. It seemed hunger had taken hold once more as claws scraped against stone, feathers ruffled, light began pouring once more from his chest.

Lightwarden Philautia would remain here, then, and he would find a way to save him. To save Lyrit.

The Exarch turned, grasping his staff in both hands as he used the rest of his aether to return to the Crystarium, holding desperately to the sound of Lyrit’s voice, to his song, to the memory. He would succeed this time, if not for the people of the world desperate for night’s return, then...for himself. He would succeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To delve deep enough to learn, one must be willing to forsake safety in the pursuit of the unknown. Perhaps such lack of precautions would be ill-advised were anyone else privy to the exact intentions in venturing so deep below the waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally intending to write more than a single ficlet for this, but I've been talking with bansheenanigans (who's the creator if the wonderful Yldegarde) frequently about this particular AU, and it's got me pumped to write more! So, another chapter!
> 
> _______________________________________________________________

Time passed strangely in a place devoid of sunlight. There was no true sense of it, deep in the abyss, imprisoned, nothing to signify its passing aside from the fading of the lights in the distance of the replication of Amaurot. It was a mercy, the ghost of a city so familiar finally being put to rest. Too often had the odd nostalgia bred sorrow, plaguing Lyrit's waking thoughts with heaviness.

The being called Philautia, that King of Lightwardens, was merciless in his grasps for power and control. Most days Lyrit’s consciousness spent in a daze, buried in his own soul [you’re too weak to stand against me], but others were spent clawing for purchase on wakefulness, desperately trying to hold onto sanity in the blinding light. Warmth. Warmth. The pulse of life beating against his chest [this body is not yours to claim] brought with it an anchor to the world, a memory so cherished, so potent, it held the fraying edges of Lyrit together in the tempestuous storm of starving pride that composed Philautia.

Today was one day in which Lyrit’s consciousness drifted at the cusp of prominence, though with the hunger tearing ravenously at his essence, it made it especially difficult to push forward without risk of losing more of himself than he currently possessed. It made moments of wakefulness a delicate dance [‘tis not your dance to lead, Lyrit Aibek], though thankfully, he was a practiced dancer, and managed to wrest control more often than one would expect. This time, however, he remained isolated, holding himself off until the air began to stir at Philautia’s observation of a distant visitor, approaching rather quickly. It sent the light into a frenzy, and served to shake Lyrit into attempting to prise control for fear that if he didn’t, Philautia would destroy someone utterly.

[Your game of hiding is over. They ride to their demise, and they shall serve a grander purpose empowering their rightful King.]

The thought, reverberating powerfully through Lyrit’s soul, only served to push him harder to get himself to the fore, but with no success. Philautia’s voice chuckled darkly, amused at the vain struggle. Hunger won out as the approaching aether reached its place and halted.

“So you’re the source of the beam of blinding brilliance that scared more than half of Eulmore from their homes.”

Lyrit recognized the voice almost instantly, and his desperate clawing for purchase in his own body [this body is not yours] intensified. Ylde. Ylde had come to find her missing friend, no doubt, and instead found--

“Not much of a vocal one, hm?” The frown could be heard in her voice, the slight shift to the defensive after realizing this creature before her was, in fact, not her friend. Lyrit continued to push. “Tell me then, Lightwarden. By what name shall I refer to you?”

Silence. Within, Lyrit could feel the boiling, the snapping of the light. Philautia was irritated by Ylde’s forwardness [a worm dares not ask its King’s name], but yet still Lyrit couldn’t break free, couldn’t wrest control. The starvation, hunger, was too much, and with a source of aether so, so very close by, it would be impossible for him to succeed. The discrepancy of power was too broad, as Philautia’s influence grew with instinct.

Ylde waited in silence for a few moments before her own irritation pushed her to speak once more, obviously not having any of it. It was just like her to be so visibly undaunted by a massive creature of untold power staring at her like a starving beast, though unfortunately Philautia had inherited Lyrit’s memories, ever-waning though they were in the madness of isolation and hunger, and also his ability to read people with relative ease.

“One would think, after so long being down here--”

“ **Do not speak to me with such informality. You need not know my name to know who I am.** ”

Ylde’s irritation spiked, and somewhere Lyrit could feel Philautia’s soul begin to burn brighter.

“...my deepest apologies. I simply wish for a title by way I can refer to you as, out of utmost respect for you and the body with which you came to be, O’ Radiant One.”

“ **Such demands demand tribute, Yldegarde.** ”

No.

No no no no no.

Though Lyrit could not truly see, he could feel Ylde’s soul begin to unfurl in the same way a soul would begin attuning itself with the aetherytes scattered over the land. A small trickle, at first, directed at Philautia. Cautious. It seeped through a crack in the Exarch’s barrier, swirling, making Philautia’s mouth water. Slow, slow, and then Philautia grasped it, breathing it in and snapping it up with no remorse. It must’ve startled Ylde, because for a brief moment the stream cut off before it continued, but she kept her resolve and poured aether into this being whose prison was the First’s only saving grace.

It was only after the first few seconds that Lyrit was able to register input from his senses, feeling the flavors of Ylde’s aether as Philautia ate what he could reach. She tasted of deepwood, old and filled with ancient secrets, charred bark and ash, like the static before a lightning strike. Dark, touched by the void, of sorrow and sacrifice and loss punctuated by resolve, by anger. It was [delicious] familiar. It was [Yldegarde] Ylde. And it was enough for Lyrit to push through, to stifle Philautia’s soul and temper his hunger. Ylde looked almost visibly relieved, the exhaustion from having her life force drained becoming slowly apparent on her features, paling her skin and tiring her eyes.

“Ylde.”

At the familiarity of Lyrit’s voice, strained though it was, the viera near burst into tears on the spot. Lyrit did his best to move forward, placing hands against the magic walls that caged him in a gesture of comfort, though he was forbidden from touching [break the cage].

“I never thought I would get to speak with you again, after I heard that voice. I have to admit it’s a relief that worked when it did, else I’d be limping for my life right about now, I’d imagine.”

“Likely,” came Lyrit’s voice once more, accompanied by a nod. It was difficult to hold himself together with Ylde’s spilled aether floating about tantalizingly, but the meal, small though it was, held him over.

“...the Exarch had given warning that you weren’t quite yourself after he returned, but I wanted to see for myself. I wanted to...to try anything I could to free you, here and now, but…” Her voice trailed off, and the two’s eyes met. Within Lyrit’s, he conveyed his understanding, and despite trying, could not hide the pain that he felt when Ylde brought up the Exarch. She changed the train of thought quickly. “The Lightwarden, though. Does he go by any titles? I’d like to know what I’m speaking with when it isn’t you.”

“Philautia. He calls himself the King of Lightwardens, and I’m inclined to believe it. His hunger is…”

“Insatiable?”

Lyrit nodded, letting his gaze fall. The truest threat of Philautia being freed was in his appetite, and in his lack of care for anything unable to challenge him, which left a very, very select few individuals, especially among those able to come to the First. Fortunately, the Exarch’s barrier still held, though it was likely to be something the miqo’te would have to repair at some point…

“Enough about that. Just...would you speak with me, for just a little while?”

Eyes refocusing on Ylde, his closest friend, his cherished companion, Lyrit nodded once more, letting his hands fall from the barrier to rest with him as he lounged, getting comfortable as close as he was able. Though not typically one of many words, he would oblige the simple request, for both their sakes, until Philautia’s hunger bared its fangs and threatened once more to swallow Lyrit whole.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost of a city holds the ghost of a soul, both radiant among the black, trapped in memory. The ache in one's chest at such sights is a phenomenon with no equal, and perhaps would be best advised to avoid were the lights not calling to be found.

It had been a few days since Yldegarde’s unexpected visit to the Ocular one evening with findings terrifying enough to upset the delicate balance of peace that the Exarch had managed to bring back to life. These findings were, to summarize shortly, that Lightwarden Philautia was, in fact, able to be sated into submissiveness if given enough aether, and that if there was no action taken, his barrier would not hold for more than a few moons. The time window given by Yldegarde was...well, rather alarming. Even despite the Exarch’s distance from the tower, he had poured much into crafting it, and to have it chipped at so quickly…

It left no question, meaning decisive action had to be taken. 

And so here he was, waiting at the edge of the shore in Kholusia like a maiden awaiting the return of her lover out to sea. The thought brought a somewhat nervous chuckle to his lips as he gazed out over the horizon and then down to the waves, picturing his previous encounter with Philautia in his mind. The thought of returning beneath the waters once more was...well. It set his heart racing, though he couldn’t tell if it was fear or nerves. Perhaps it was the early onset of hope bubbling in his stomach, misplaced as he tried to tell himself it was. Even if they were successful in bringing Lyrit’s consciousness to the fore, it wouldn’t…

“Eager to get your fur wet, Exarch?”

Yldegarde’s tired voice caught the miqo’te off-guard, his ears at attention as he nearly jumped in his place.

“A-ah! Yldegarde! I...well, I wouldn’t quite say _eager_ ,” the Exarch replied, with all the grace he could muster. He cleared his throat. “Though I will admit to having been anticipating this departure for the entirety of the day.”

The viera followed the Exarch’s gaze out over the seas again, her voice quieting as she took a few steps closer, letting her feet rest in the waves lapping lazily at the sands.

“Me too. Though it isn’t my first venture, I always find myself needing a moment before beginning the swim down.”

Humming thoughtfully, the Exarch nodded, a more solemn tone taking his voice.

“...’tis not often one is allowed to see a beloved they thought dead.”

A hand, firm but gentle, and far too exhausted, came to rest upon the Exarch’s shoulder. He had forgone his usual robes to don something more aquatic-friendly, choosing instead tighter fabrics and less layers. Something enough to protect him should things go awry, but still concealing enough that it remained in his comfort zone developed over the century of being the Crystal Exarch. Feeling Ylde’s hand on his shoulder did little to ease his nerves, but it wasn’t completely ineffective, nor unappreciated, and the Exarch flitted his gaze to the viera’s mis-matched one, offering her a smile. She did her best to muster one up in kind, though it was obvious both of them were nervous and very, very tired.

“Shall we, then?”

The Exarch gestured over the waves towards the distant depths, palm upward. Yldegarde nodded, lifting her hand in a stretch before striding into the water, followed close behind by the much shorter miqo’te, until the two were fully submerged and headed toward the slowly-waning bubble of air gifted to them by Bismark. It was, thankfully, a rather easy target to find, what with the lights of the magically-glamoured Amaurot glistening among the dark. A ghost of the memory of a city long lost...it was a terribly fitting place to act as a prison for what was like to be the most powerful entity among the shards. A soul wracked with blinding torment, confined to a place born from an aching heart…

The Exarch shook himself from his thoughts, refocusing on his traveling companion beneath the waters. It wouldn’t do to become so melancholy before they’d even arrived, especially with the hope that, perhaps, they could find a way to fix this.

Before long, the two of them breached the bubble at a level altitude with one of the rocky cliffs that decorated the edge of the trench that housed the crafted Amaurot, taking in large breaths of air after their magically-aided swimming. It was quiet at the bottom of the sea, the only sounds echoing through the air from the currents caressing the edges of the bubble, from escaped air rippling to the surface. It always felt very heavy down here, humid, but very, very cold, and both Yldegarde and the Exarch shivered as their soaked bodies prickled at the temperature. Neither was particularly suited to colder climes.

“I always forget just how damnably _cold_ it is,” Yldegarde bristled, furiously rubbing her exposed arms. The Exarch chuckled, his voice shaking as he shivered.

“‘Tis to be expected, considering our current locale, and yet…”

Yldegarde shook her head, huffing as she began her trek forward. The Exarch followed close behind, finding his stomach knotting as the lights of the city drew closer. Last he had been here, it had been to deal with his failure, resulting in the very prison the two were going to check. Last he had been here, it had been to damn the person he loved more than anything to a fate he had no right influencing in the way he had intended. Though imprisonment was only a little better than death, the Exarch couldn’t help but feel heavy. Such a weight of solitude...he would’ve liked to say he knew it well, but his century on the First had still been spent among people who had loved him. Even if he hadn’t been able to be wholly genuine, he had made relationships that were genuine, and suddenly he felt more lucky than he ever had before to have had the opportunity to come here and try making a difference.

However, this world and that doomed future were not yet saved. So long as the light continued to exist within this King of Lightwardens, the First and the Source were not free from their terrible fates.

Suddenly, a vast expanse of dark lay before him, far, far more barren than the last time he had visited. No lights shone from the buildings, now very suddenly in the same state as the ruins that littered the Ondo’s home. It was...odd, very odd. Such a small patch in comparison to the sprawling city having been reverted to its true state was…

“Yldegarde, what--”

From the depths, a hand, pale and golden, shot up, followed quickly by the full-force of a long and shimmering body, colliding full-force with the barrier. A visible crack appeared, glowing with a blinding radiance for a brief moment before the magic faded. The suddenness of the attack had startled both the viera and the miqo’te, who had fallen back in terror. Philautia hovered before them, still, blessedly, confined to his prison. His radiance was near blinding in the darkness, gilded wings spread, arms once more wrapping around his torso.

“ **Yldegarde,** ” came the Lightwarden’s voice, a low growl in his throat. “ **Come once more to offer yourself to me.** ”

It was as she began her response that Philautia’s bright, piercing eyes locked onto the Exarch, still on the ground, propped up on one arm. A deep hum of approval resonated from his chest, though his expression remained as impassive as a porcelain mask, as it always was.

“ **Exarch. You are rather a sight to behold once more. Your soul feels weak, frail, and yet your power is strong.** ”

A laugh, then, came from Philautia. Ylde’s ears flattened, her feet shifting to a more defensive stance, moving just a bit closer to where the Exarch sat, wide-eyed.

“ **What a boon, to have been brought such a gift. You have outdone yourself, Yldegarde.** ”

The Exarch shook his head, steeling himself as he stood once more. Ylde took a step, covering more of the miqo’te’s body with her own, arm outstretched, brows furrowed, anger boiling the air.

“Don’t touch him, Philautia.”

“ **Foolish girl. The decision is not yours to make.** ”

Stepping forward, the Exarch gently lowered Ylde’s arm, startling her from her battle-ready stance. Concern and worry crossed her features as she looked to her companion, who simply smiled at her before fixing his focus on the Lightwarden. The sudden shift in his posture was apparent, shoulders and head held high.

“Perhaps it is not her decision, but ‘tis not yours either, King of Lightwardens. None here fall under your domain, and are not beholden to your whims.”

At this, Philautia shifted, pressing more of his body to the barrier, getting his face as close as he could to where Yldegarde and the Exarch stood, his focus sharp, light flaring with blinding brilliance from his chest. The arms around him wrapped tighter, fingers digging into marble-colored skin.

“ **Your confidence breaks under the Light, G’raha Tia. I know your soul, and before my radiance your heart is laid bare.** ”

At the use of his name, the Exarch’s confident stature faltered. A menacing flash of fury seemed almost to pulse from the crack that Philautia hovered before, nearly staggering the two from their places. Though the viera had been down here many times, she had not seen Philautia truly angry until now. Despite the calm expression on his cold, cold face that looked far too similar to Lyrit’s to be such a way, it was very, very obvious his ire was provoked, and the thought that, perhaps, this venture had simply failed ran through her mind.

“ **If you would but surrender yourself to me, your desires would be granted. We would be one. You would be _free._** ”

It was silent, then, for a few moments. The Exarch’s eyes widened, tears welling, threatening in his throat. Thoughts raced in his mind, fingers slowly curling into fists at his sides. It was….true. Philautia spoke the truth. Freedom to fly, to adventure once more with the one he loved more than anything, to see the world by the side of his beloved as an equal...it was what his heart desired most. Selfishly. He had far too many obligations as Exarch, tethered to the Crystal Tower, people needed him to be who he had become, no matter how much his heart longed for the breeze through his hair, sun on his face…

For a moment, the offer seemed tempting enough to take. The Exarch lifted a hand, uncurling his fingers, reaching out. Yldegarde moved to stop him, but his voice beat her.

“Would that it were so simple, my Warrior. Though your skies call to me, so too does my destiny that I embraced so long ago, the people who have come to know me as Exarch, the people who entrusted their hopes to me. It would not do to fail them another time.”

The fury pouring through the barrier stopped abruptly, Philautia’s posture falling until his feet landed on the crumbling remains of a roadway that met the edge of the rooftop composing the cliffside that Ylde and the Exarch stood on. The viera watched this, looking between the Exarch and the Lightwarden, until Philautia’s hand rose once more to gently, gently press against the barrier. There was no movement for a few moments after, but despite, Ylde stayed on-guard, both for herself and for the Exarch, who kept his head down and ears flat, waiting to hear a sharp response.

“...your burden is heavy.”

The voice that came from the King of Lightwardens was far softer now, and it perked both Ylde and the Exarch up, their eyes focusing on Lyrit’s hand before meeting his eyes. The familiarity brought a smile to the two’s faces, relief settling in Ylde’s posture as the Exarch cautiously stepped forward, pressing his outstretched hand against his side of the barrier.

“Lyrit…”

The name, practically sighed with overwhelming relief from both Yldegarde and the Exarch’s lips, broke the tension hanging in the air, freeing the two from the suffocating presence that Philautia exerted. And though the Exarch wanted nothing more than to open the barrier, he held the impulse back, knowing full well that at any moment the hunger could take over once more, and the moment they had been afforded, likely with no small amount of effort on Lyrit’s part, would be shattered. It made the Exarch’s heart ache anew. His beloved was so close, but still so out of reach, as he always had been.

The lingering memory of soft feathers against his cheek made its way to the fore, in the moments he held his hand against the magic. They had been so cold, devoid of the life that once had flowed so freely through Lyrit’s chest. The thought made the miqo’te’s hand falter, fingers brushing the barrier as his arm fell once more to his side. Lyrit’s hand remained, unmoving.

“It’s good to see you, G’raha, Ylde. But…” _Why? Why did you bring him?_

The question went unspoken, but it lingered in the air heavily. Ylde sighed, attention turning to the Exarch.

“The barrier needs to be repaired, and I...I might’ve decided this task was too dangerous and important to do alone, sustainably. You’ll forgive me for involving him, but he’s--”

“The only one who could.”

Surprised by Lyrit’s sudden vocalization, Ylde stuttered, but nodded. The Exarch lifted his gaze to see Lyrit’s eyes again, and though they weren’t focused on him at first, they soon shifted, fixing him with a stare that seemed too somber to be as intense as it was.

“...the barrier is yours for as long as I can hold Philautia still. Please.” _Stay safe. Leave before you come to harm._

“Thank you, Lyrit,” Ylde responded, motioning passively for the Exarch to follow her. The miqo’te didn’t move initially, however, focused on Lyrit, searching for the right thing to say.

“...this will not be the last time we meet. We will find a way to free you from this cruel fate that should have never come to pass. I swear it.”

The expression of relief, worry, and pain that flashed through Lyrit’s eyes left the Exarch’s heart heavy as he set about showing Ylde how to repair the barrier in the places the light had eaten away at it. It brought him to steal glances at where Lyrit had settled himself, curled on the remains of the road, body tense as he no doubt battled with his hunger for the sake of the Exarch and Ylde’s safe repairs. It served to steel his resolve and renew his determination to find a way to fix this, to save him, but also weighed on him, cast doubts in his mind and reminded him of Philautia’s words.

To be free...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this chapter's instance written up because it's the major turning point-- as it happens, having helping hands and another mind to work with could help in discovering new things! As always, (bansheenanigans) is a pleasure to plot with TvT
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So I got into drawing Philautia earlier and had some thoughts about what would happen to him in a setting where Lyrit failed to contain the light and became a lightwarden...and I might continue this with various scenarios? Not sure yet! And, as usual, no proofreading, so apologies for mistakes!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Here's a URL for those interested in seeing Philautia: [ https://twitter.com/kokuou_ji/status/1218801873614000128?s=20 ]


End file.
